


All at once

by dotfic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 22:09:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On New Year's Eve, Dean gives Castiel a gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All at once

**Author's Note:**

> Set over a year after spn 9.09. Thank you to hufflepuffdean for the beta.

They find the car in Wisconsin, among other rusted cast-offs in an unused field behind the haunted barn Dean and Charlie went to salt and burn. Dean has no idea why he decides it has to be that car and it's in horrible shape, while the bunker's garage is full of sweet rides. But before Dean knows it, he's on the front porch of the farmhouse ignoring Charlie's raised eyebrow and asking the owner how much he wants for it. A Mustang V6 Coupe, even one as damaged as this one, would draw a good price on eBay, but the farmer doesn't seem to care. He accepts a few hundred dollars for it and says it saves him the trouble of selling it and having it hauled off himself--plus they rid his barn of a ghost.

"What are you doing with it?" Charlie asks, as they hike back to where the Impala's parked, at the end of the long gravel road. Insects buzz in the tall grass on either side. They're both going to get sunburned. 

"It's for a friend," Dean says. The rest of it catches in the back of his throat, even though it's easier to talk to Charlie than to most people. "I'm good with cars."

"Oh, huh," she says, snapping off a stalk of grass, twirling it. "Yeah I guess some of us fix up old computers for people and some abandoned muscle cars?" She nudges Dean in the ribs, grinning, and he's grateful. He's grateful that she's here, walking down that gravel road with him, that she came back from Oz safe and sound. "This friend of your isn't only a friend, is he?" Charlie adds, and Dean flushes in the heat of the late afternoon. She holds up her hands, blade of grass still caught between her fingers. "Hey I already guessed but I thought I'd verify before jumping to conclusions. The way you and Cas look at each other…"

It's not like it's a secret. No one they know ever seems surprised once they figure it out.

* * *

Charlie showed up at the bunker back in spring with her hair coiled up on top of her head and a look in her eyes Dean recognized: it meant she'd seen war. It was one of the weeks when Sam was actually at the bunker and not off on his own or hunting with Garth and Jody.

At least Sam was himself again, and healthy, and speaking to him, even if things were still shaky. Sam was the one who managed a way to ask Charlie where Dorothy was and got an overly bright "she's fine, still in Oz," in reply, while Charlie refused to look either of them in the eye.

The weight she was carrying, the evasiveness, vanished temporarily when Cas wandered into the bunker library and Charlie's eyes widened. "That's him?" she said. "Castiel? _The_ Castiel?" with so much emphasis on the initial article that Cas actually flushed a little. 

"It's…I'm just Cas," he said, shaking her hand.

"I've read the books. You aren't 'just' anything." 

Cas stared at her, like he had no idea what she meant by that, but Charlie was already pulling out her IPad Air, holding it out to Cas and giving him no time to be uncomfortable. "Maybe you can help me with this new app I'm working on, it's to classify different kinds of angels and demons," and Castiel nodded.

* * *

By the time Dean and Charlie reach the Impala, the shadows have grown longer. The sunlight's a thick, golden haze, with the light of the in-between before summer starts sliding into fall.

They're hours on the road before Dean finally texts Sam to ask for his help with what he wants to do with the Mustang. He gets an answer back while Charlie's inside the truck stop restaurant getting them burgers.

_Okay. But that's kind of a big thing to hide for so long._

_We'll figure out something,_ Dean texts back. He leans against the warm side of the Impala and then, after some hesitation, sends another text. _Glad you're in on this with me._

Sam doesn't reply.

* * *

A week later Dean drives out by himself in a rented tow truck to pick up the Mustang and haul it back to the bunker. He keeps the radio locked onto a classic rock station, although he questions their parameters for "classic" after they play three 1980's pop songs in a row. 

It feels different, being alone just because he decided to make this drive by himself, and not because everyone's left, or lost, or dead, or he has no idea where they are. He made up some song and dance bullshit story to tell Cas, who solemnly handed him a brown bag packed with sandwiches produced with no angel mojo, only hard work and cold cuts from the fridge. 

Since giving up his borrowed powers, Cas seems to swing between times of intense training, hours on the shooting range or the gym, and staring a little too long at the bottles of aged liquor the Men of Letters left behind. He buries himself in the archives, going too quiet even allowing for Cas's usual brand quietness, but he doesn't leave. He stays. He stays. 

Dean doesn't ask him to, because doesn't want to push it and isn't sure he deserves what Cas offers him, friendship or otherwise. He only waits for Cas to slip into Dean's room late at night, lets it be his idea, and sometimes, when they're lying curled together after, when the bunker's quiet enough, Dean makes sure he says _I'm glad you're here._ He's always been kind of crummy at words, but he finds different ways to reply to the things Cas often murmurs in Enochian against Dean's skin, to the fact that he's solid and real and can't vanish in the middle of an argument. Maybe Cas wouldn't any more even if he could.

The road and the music lulls him, helps him stop thinking about the angel and demon problems that still rain down on all of them, as if they're rafts lashed together in a storm, along with the ghost and monster shit that they deal with along the way. 

He's okay, being by himself these days, which is terrifying.

* * *

A few months pass of him and Sam coming up with increasingly convoluted reasons why Cas can't go into the garage. Luckily Cas seems pretty distracted with working on the database for Charlie's app. They take on a hunt together, and another, and it all seems like a good idea until Dean gets a call on his cell from Cas to come bail him and Charlie out of jail in Kalispell, Montana.

"I don't even want to know," Dean snaps on the drive back to Kansas. 

"Okay," Charlie says, very quietly. "But it is kind of a funny story." Charlie's riding shotgun, biting her lower lip, and Dean can't tell if she's ashamed or trying not to laugh.

Cas sits in the back, slumped down as if he hopes the Impala's cushions will swallow him up. 

He gets a text from Sam when they're halfway home.

_Garth heard from Kevin. He's all right._

At least they know he's still out there, he's alive, even if the kid will probably never speak to them again. He's on some crazy quest to find out what happened to his mom.

If Kevin would accept the help to begin with, Dean's still not sure if he'd give it or try to talk him down from it.

* * *

Sam's around the bunker more often as the leaves fall from the trees and the air gets colder. They work on the Mustang, and it's more time than they've spent together since last year, before that crap with Gadreel. 

They're up to their wrists in grease and rust and car parts and it all makes sense in ways nothing has for a really long time, working on this engine with Sam, knowing this is something he can fix. Broken made whole again. 

There have been enough _sorry_ 's and _why didn't you_ and _don't you ever_ 's over the years. 

Johnny Cash is playing on the radio, volume turned down low so the sound won't drift through the bunker and draw Cas down to the garage to investigate. The Mustang's engine was in decent shape when Dean bought it, considering the state of neglect. A lot of the work they need to do is to the body, patching the rust. 

Sam pauses to grab a torque wrench. "Found some old notes in the archives, from the late 1940's. If I can figure this out, there might be a way to expel a demon from the host without exorcism."

"Oh." Dean keeps his head over the engine, breathing the scents of metal, rust, and oil as something lightens in his chest. "Good."

"Plus there's the cure. Who knows what else is buried in those old journals and files." Sam's talking faster, and Dean wonders how he can still carry this much hope and eagerness after everything. "And -- I'm looking at U of Kansas." 

"You becoming a Jayhawks fan?" But he knows what Sam means.

"I'm planning to be enrolled by next September."

"Yeah," Dean says. "Okay."

The alternator needs work and it needs a new fanbelt and spark plugs. They have the parts they need already.

"You deserve to find your own happy ending," Sam says.

* * *

The mess with a pocket of Abaddon's minions in Indiana goes so wrong it's pineapple-shaped, but the hosts survive freed from the demons, and Sam and Dean and Cas survive. Dean calls it a win.

Three days later, Dean finds Cas in the gym room instead of on the couch where he's been parked to heal from the gash along his ribcage. Hands wrapped, he's going at the punching bag like it's every demon he can't smite with a touch any longer. Methodical, powerful blows, face stony with concentration. Dean wonders if he can get close enough to lift Castiel's shirt and check if he's pulled out any stitches without getting punched.

"Hey," Dean says, putting his hands on the bag opposite where Cas is punching, holding it steady, offering resistance.

Cas gives a quick glance his way, but doesn't say anything, just switches hands and keeps at it. His light gray t-shirt is stained dark with sweat near the collar.

If Cas can't be a weapon with his grace, he'll hone himself into one another way. 

Dean keeps holding onto the bag. "Uh, Rocky? Maybe you should take it easy before you bust open those stitches Sam sewed on you."

"You almost _died_ back there," Cas breathes out fiercely, to the thump of another blow to the bag. 

"And, what. It's your sole responsibility? Your job, and who gives a shit what happens to you?" Dean shoves the bag, forcing Cas to stop punching and stagger back.

The stare Cas is giving him makes the blood in Dean's veins go cold and then too hot. Even with all his powers gone, at moments Cas is still the live wire, the barely contained storm. This is Dean's very own hurricane. Dean walks towards Cas, reaches out and puts his hand on his shoulder, hard, tensed muscle beneath the layers of cotton and flesh.

"Stop," Dean says. "Why don't you just…stop." 

"Why don't you?" Cas leans in but it's his gaze that crowds Dean.

"I…I don't -- I don't know _how_." Dean squeezes his eyes shut, but the tears slide out anyway. 

Cas's hand falls warm over Dean's where it rests on his shoulder and Dean opens his eyes. Dean steps closer, breathes in the scent of sweat, mouth against the crook of Cas's neck as Cas puts his arms around Dean and holds him tightly and Dean's careful not to press too hard against his injury.

* * *

Sam and Dean finish the paint job on the Mustang in late December. The bunker is full of people, Charlie, Garth, and Jody--who's taken a sabbatical from her job--crashing there temporarily. Dean tells himself it's only because of the up-tick in demon problems, they need a gathering space to strategize. It's war. But it feels good having them there. 

Kevin texts Garth to check in and let them know he's alive. 

It's New Year's Eve, they've found a few bottles of champagne in the Men of Letters stash, and everyone piles into Sam's room for a _Twilight Zone_ marathon.

"Cas, c'mere." Dean intercepts him at the door. "Sam and I have something to show you in the garage." 

"You're referring to that place the two of you have clumsily been keeping me away from for months?" His deadpan delivery has a bite to it--they've all kept far too many secrets. At least this one can't destroy them from the inside out.

"Yeah, that's the place." Sam ducks his head, trying not to laugh as they walk down the long corridor.

"Well, I am looking forward to the results of what you were working on, Sam," Cas says. "This demonic containment unit, you said? It's nice you wanted to surprise me but it might've been more practical to let me observe the work in progress. I could've--"

They step into the garage and Cas stops. Dean made sure the Mustang was out front and center, near the Impala and the Ford truck Sam bought secondhand for himself after a month of pool hustling. 

They chose cobalt blue for the Mustang, paint job and polished chrome shining under the garage lights.

"I don't understand." Cas frowns. When Dean presses the keys into Cas's palm and closes his fingers around them, Cas's confused frown only deepens.

"It's no biggie," Dean says, forcing a careless shrug. "I like working on cars."

"But it's…" The frown's gone, but Cas still looks dazed.

"Yours," says Sam. He sets the glasses on the hood and pours the champagne.

"But…"

"Cas, shut up." Dean's stomach is jumping around because of the expression on Castiel's face. 

Sam hands a glass to Cas and a glass to Dean and raises his own. "Happy New Year." He smiles and it's like a warm lamp's been switched on, it's home, it's maybe they'll be all right.

They lean against the Mustang side by side for a while, drinking their champagne and answering Castiel's questions about the car. Sam finishes off his glass and leaves Dean and Cas alone in the garage.

Cas keeps fidgeting with the keys, strong fingers rubbing at the metal. Maybe it's the champagne but Dean's insides keep somersaulting, almost giddy. 

"Why don't you fire her up," Dean suggests.

So Cas opens the driver's side door and slides behind the wheel. Dean taught him to drive with the Impala back in the spring, after Cas lost his filched powers. He'll have to make him a fake drivers' license to go with the law enforcement badges.

The engine rumble-purrs to life. Cas lets it run for a few minutes, hands tracing the steering wheel. Then he switches it off and climbs out.

"It's a good vehicle," he says. "I like the smell." There's a tiny smile working at the corner of Cas's mouth.

Dean puts his hands on either side of Castiel's face, his thumbs tracing the stubble along his jaw. He backs Cas up until he's almost sitting on the hood of the Mustang.

"I don't need you here because I need a weapon." Dean presses his mouth over Cas's, then moves his lips downwards. He licks at Castiel's neck, tasting salty skin. Castiel's hands slide up under Dean's t-shirt, tugging Dean closer until Cas is sitting on the car, leg muscles pinning Dean in place against him. "You're…" he has no idea how to say this, manages to look Cas in the eye as he does. "You're _Cas_."

Castiel finds Dean's mouth again, licks in with his tongue. He tastes like champagne and Dean enjoys the way everything's gone wobbly, as if the cement floor beneath his boots is part liquid. He thrusts against Cas, grinding them together, and Cas makes a needy sound deep in his throat, grip tightening. They fumble with the buttons and zippers of their jeans, and Dean wraps his hand around both of their cocks, and they push against each other. 

Breath hitching in his throat, Cas presses his palms at the base of Dean's spine, fingers splayed, needy, as if Dean can't ever be close enough. His breath goes ragged in Dean's ear when Dean quickens his strokes. Their hips find a rhythm, growing more insistent. Cas moves a hand down, fingers twining with Dean's, slick and wet. He kisses Dean, lips and tongue demanding. Dean feels Cas's body shuddering as he comes, groaning into Dean's mouth. A moment later Dean tumbles over as well, and it leaves him gasping, his face pressed against Castiel's shoulder, hands shaking. 

They stay like that, the gleam of metal around and beneath them, then zip and clean up, Cas sliding off the hood of the Mustang. He drapes an arm around Dean from behind, resting his chin on Dean's shoulder with Dean's back against his chest, the side of the car supporting them both.

* * *

They get a breather after weeks of being toyed with, batted around, and battered by crap from multiple supernatural forces. Over breakfast one morning Dean tells Sam and Cas he's headed out for a little while, to nowhere in particular. He catches the worried look that passes between them and pretends he doesn't.

Sam nods. "You'll check in?"

"Of course."

"Here, don't forget this. It's winter, dumbass." Sam balls up the wool scarf he gave Dean for Christmas and tosses it to Dean, who catches it. The two motions are instinctive, it's like he knows Sam was going to toss the scarf, and barely has to think to intercept it.

On his way out, Cas finds him, hanging back hesitantly before he steps forward quickly and hands Dean a brown paper bag. More sandwiches. Dean kisses him, a quick brush of lips, hand gripping the back of Cas's neck, before he walks away.

* * *

The road map lies open on the shotgun seat, highway unrolling beneath the Impala's wheels. Dean heads for Colorado, winds up on Interstate 25, mountains looming in the distance. There's been snow recently, but the roads are mostly clear.

Dean stops somewhere with a great view, gets out of the car and eats the last of the sandwiches Cas made him. It's cold but he's wearing his lined jacket and the scarf Sam gave him. He texts Sam where he is.

The cold starts to seep too far into his bones, so Dean gets back in the Impala, and keeps on driving. Unsure of where he's headed, but that's all right, he'll figure it out, and he knows where home is.


End file.
